


Prime Voting Time and No Bots Allowed

by EmilyElm



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: A little massage, Fire Cloud, Fire Season, Hannibal aka Lucifer is unleashed to win it, In the Heat of Tight Internet Poll Race, It burns, Lots of Clicking, Lots of Internet Poll Feels, M/M, Some Finger-sucking, Tattle Crime Does a Poll on the Murder Husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 23:51:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7662013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilyElm/pseuds/EmilyElm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will discovers on Tattle Crime that Freddie has put up an online poll about the Murder Husbands and he stays up all night to put the odds in his favor.  Only to find that Hannibal is in it to win it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prime Voting Time and No Bots Allowed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the-winnowing-wind](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=the-winnowing-wind).



> Inspired by the recent poll many Fannibals and friends of Fannibals participated in, all of us who have put in those clicks for our fandom, the family and friends who have had to put up with us while we are clicking away, and of course, the captain of the Fannibal call-to-action polling station, the-winnowing-wind.

“Have you heard of an internet poll?”

 

The question is presented in a way that has the effect of coming out of thin air, but then it just hangs there, like the pregnant fire cloud billowing nearby in the distance. With the recent spike in summer temperatures, wildfires just start along the roadways in a puff of smoke. Some could be put out, while others – not so much.

 

Of course, Hannibal has heard of an internet poll. However, he never imagined Will actually participating in one. 

 

While Hannibal rinses the plates to put into the dishwasher, he notices how distracted Will is, constantly reaching for his phone and tapping it. The fight they have over drying the sink after the dishes have been washed is typical. Will forgets that Hannibal prefers his things to look pristine and maybe his needling edged the line of bitchy.

 

“So, what, this is grounds for divorce?” Will indicates the wet sink.

 

“That would then demand a marriage. Are you proposing, Will?” Hannibal teases.

 

The levity barely enters the room before a groundswell of complete mortification overtakes them both. 

 

Hannibal dials it back and lets Will drift off to the study, collecting devices along the way. He grabs a tea towel and pats the sink dry. But the question hangs in the air – this polling business. Why would Will bring up a poll?

 

Hannibal takes the pack to a nearby park. Will usually joins them for an after-dinner walk, but he has hunkered down in the study, not to be disturbed. 

 

At the park, the air is filled with floating embers and ash, and the sky is a nuclear gray-orange, reflecting the fire in the distance – about 40 miles out. The sun is even ablaze in hot pink. He knows the air quality in bad, but he takes a seat in the bench, stretches out his arms, throws back his head and just absorbs the destruction and fire energy for all it’s worth.

 

Hannibal returns and Will has not moved from his spot on the couch. He has every electronic device at his fingertips and they alight in his own rhythmic dance. Along his hairline, sweat has darkened Will's roots and Hannibal can feel how revved up Will is even from the distance between them. 

 

Hannibal sets down a glass of beer beside Will’s non-dancing hand. He peers over Will’s shoulder at one of the open screens. So it is Tattlecrime that has set Will’s world on fire. A picture of Hannibal and Will from their trials are pitted against each other. Freddie had covered both events. He can’t catch a glimpse of the question she is demanding her readers to vote on.

 

“Should I worry about you, Will?” Hannibal asks gently. 

 

Will rolls his eyes. In a workshop Hannibal had taken on marriage counseling, the body language expert stressed that this gesture was not a good sign for either partner. Hannibal checks Will over again, alarmed. Will’s eyes are glazed over. Hannibal is unseen now. Will has not stopped clicking. 

 

Hannibal runs his hand over Will’s forehead, as if testing for fever. Will realizes there’s a beer beside him. 

 

“Ah, thanks,” he murmurs, sipping. “This is hard work.”

 

“And you need your energy to come to bed soon,” Hannibal needles, apparently on a roll today. 

 

Will ignores him again and turns his body away from him, in a body eye roll. Apparently, there is such a thing in Will Graham’s book of body language. Hannibal is aghast. 

 

“You are coming to bed soon?” Hannibal insists. 

 

Grunts are managed. Even the dogs give up and sigh at Will’s feet. Hannibal stands there for a full minute before catching sight of a timer on the screen. This poll lasts for days. His eyes widen. 

 

“What exactly is this for again, Will?”

 

“So… it will take all my energy to explain and I need to focus right now, Hannibal,” Will is irritable and is not afraid to show it. 

 

Hannibal's mouth hangs open. Will loses his train of thought, as he moves from one window to the next, pressing a button on a long internet factory line. He glances up when he realizes Hannibal is still standing there. 

 

“I’ll tell you later, I promise,” Will says, breathless.

 

Will crawls into bed around 5 o’clock in the morning. Hannibal, at this point, is in full pout. 

 

“Did I wake you?” Will asks, groggy. He is popping his wrists and knuckles, stiff after his repetitive finger dance. 

 

“Have you been on that poll all night?”

 

“I didn’t want to stop until we were ahead. You know how competitive I am.”

 

“I know.”

 

Hannibal waits for an explanation. Will sinks into the mattress and Hannibal reaches for his arm, massaging it. 

 

“So there’s this internet poll that Freddie is conducting for all the Tattlecrime readers,” Will settles into Hannibal’s touch. “That feels good.”

 

“Don’t change the subject,” Hannibal demands. 

 

He rubs Will from his shoulder to his wrist, kneading the soft flesh of his palm. Will is on the brink of sleep.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to tell you later?” Will evades once again.

 

“You know I can’t sleep without you,” Hannibal admits. 

 

Hannibal has chosen to be honest, despite how uncomfortable it makes Will. He has gotten used to their arrangement. Will needs his space sometimes, but after a sleepless night, Hannibal needs some clarity on what is going on with him.

 

“I met some of Freddie’s readers and convinced them that the murder husbands – us – never survived the fall and that we were never that way with each other.”

 

Hannibal releases Will’s hand and it plops between them. 

 

“Self-preservation. End the rumors once and for all,” Will explains. “We have the lead and I can sleep for a few hours.”

 

Will plants his head on his pillow and Hannibal stares at the strange light filtering its way into the room. Their chests rise and fall, but neither can sleep.

 

“I’m right beside you. Why are you still awake?” Will finally breaks the silence. 

 

“I’m trying to understand why you would vote against us. And what you have against the whole murder husbands brand.”

 

“You’re serious?”

 

“What have you got against being married to me?” Hannibal demands to know.

 

“Shall I enumerate on our vicious past –“

 

“And fail to mention how long you’ve been in love with me?”

 

This gives Will pause. 

 

“How long has it been, Will? Because to me, at least, lying here next to you, it goes both ways. “

 

Hannibal doesn’t want him to be ashamed of being in love with a cannibalistic serial killer, even when voting anonymously. He thought they were long past this. But apparently not. 

 

Will refuses to answer. Turning on his side and exhausted, he falls asleep. 

 

Hannibal stares at Will’s back, furious. An online poll has revealed the fault line in their relationship? He thinks of the seasons that he has gotten used to in their new hideaway: rain, fire, earthquakes and mudslides. In the dark, where all of his worst actions can be explored, Hannibal considers that playing house with his beloved may not be enough.

 

Hannibal rises stealthily, as is his custom to do. He goes to the study. He completes his own shift for the poll. Murder husbands are alive and kicking, he clicks. His side reaches a substantial lead, he believes firmly, with his help and his ability to hire bots to do his team’s clicking for him. Unlike Will, he refuses to play by the rules. 

 

He watches the numbers climb until complaints arise. Freddie catches his bots and scrambles to end the cheating while at the same time putting up her own forts to protect the integrity of the poll. With the playing field leveled, Hannibal returns to bed. 

 

With Will beside him, Hannibal is able to slip into a slumber that had been evading him. He even dreams. A neighbor waves at them as they drive by in their Tesla convertible. She warns them that the firefighters will not want to help them move their belongings. To be ready to run with whatever they’ve packed in the trunk of their car. She bids them luck, and in a moment of forgetting their names, refers to them as murder husbands. 

 

Hannibal awakens, smiling. 

 

Will’s eyes flutter open. He has been stirring for several minutes, pressing the snooze button on his alarm. He can’t avoid it any longer. He must get up in time for his promised shift. He fumbles for his phone, stretching his legs over Hannibal’s, his human scratching post. 

 

Sometime during the night, his lead had been erased. Will can’t believe there’s that many people who would admit to being fans of theirs. His mouth purses. What is going in the world? 

 

He glares at Hannibal, dismayed. "You'll have to make your own breakfast,” he mumbles in his direction. He waves his hand in the direction of the study, but he is already clicking. 

 

Hannibal is demanding attention. He has tangled up Will’s legs before Will can swing them off the bed and he is nibbling on Will’s collarbone. Along the scars of his wrecked shoulder. 

 

“Stay in bed,” Hannibal murmurs against Will’s skin, “with me.”

 

“Can’t,” Will responds, but doesn’t move. Hannibal takes Will’s free hand, which was gently pushing him off his arm, and puts one of Will’s fingers in his mouth. Then another. He licks between them and lifts his eyes up to meet Will’s. 

 

Will has not stopped clicking on his phone. He meets Hannibal’s gaze, which darts from his lips to his phone. 

 

“You are too far behind. Stop and stay in bed with me,” Hannibal demands. 

 

“Freddie is fixing whatever you have done,” Will shoots back. “There’s still a chance.”

 

“Will,” Hannibal calls as Will starts to go. “What do you think I’ve done?”

 

Will considers his bedmate, his sleepy arousal, his constant clinginess. “Hannibal,” Will caresses his temple. “I can’t sleep without you either. Where have you been all night? I hope not making sausage?”

 

Hannibal considers which finger of Will’s he could bite off for said-sausage. He traces the scar along Will’s stomach to center himself. To not be that guy. 

 

“You’re right,” Hannibal shrugs off the fight. “You have time. I think Freddie extended the clock, to make up for that sudden surge.”

 

“Did she?”

 

Will checks and sees that the countdown has indeed been extended. 

 

“Everyone talks fairness these days,” Will sighs, “but Freddie Lounds gets it.”

 

“She gets us, Will,” Hannibal parlays back smoothly. “Murder husband. Partner in crime. Yin to my yang.”

 

Hannibal pulls Will close for a kiss. His fingers twist against his arm just so. Bruising. 

 

“Perhaps we should make it official? Send Freddie an invite to the wedding?” Hannibal teases.

 

“What is the saying – there’s an ounce of truth in sarcasm?” Will’s eyes flash. “Do you want me to put a ring on it, Hannibal?”

 

A miniscule tug of Hannibal’s lush lips seem to gain control over that muscle. There is even a hint of teeth. Hannibal levels his gaze at him.

 

Words are not needed. If Beyonce came out herself, tossing rose petals from a basket and presented matching gold bands, Hannibal could not have been happier. Will turns away and goes into the study.

 

He delays showering. Puts off going to the store for coffee. 

 

He settles into his place on the couch and takes in the bright screens. He relishes the camaraderie he’s built with the righteous fan group. It’s intense, keeping pace with the other evil side. Despite Hannibal’s influence, there’s clearly more people who believe love wins the day and they’re alive and on the run. 

 

He shakes his head and instant messages to his fellow deniers that he’s ready to bring the reality check to those murder husbands fans. He catches a glimpse of his Lithuanian murderball drifting down to the kitchen. 

 

“Take a break and go to the store, Will?” Hannibal shouts from a distance.

 

“No,” Will mumbles, petulantly. “This is prime voting time.”

 

Will has all his devices fired up. The wind blowing from the fire is hot, but his cellphone feels even hotter. Ten percent of the fire has been contained. And after refreshing all of his computer screens, the anti-Graham-Lecter fans are only about four thousand votes behind. 

 

He cracks his wrists, he can do this. He primes himself mentally for a few more hours of steady voting. And then his eyes rest on their picture, manipulated into a wedding photo pose, with a road beneath their shoes that stretches on for miles. That’s the mascot that the other side has insisted for days was his life. And it hits him again that more people seem okay with that than not.

 

It’s hard to admit that he’s been in love with a serial killer for a long time, even after he realized he was in love with a serial killer. And Hannibal being a cannibal makes him one too. It’s not an easy sort of relationship. He certainly struggles, sometimes, making sense that he chose to run away with him. 

 

And Hannibal wants to take their relationship to another level. He wants Will to put a ring on it. He wants him to vote pro-alive, on the run, having fun, murder husbands. There’s no doubt that over a million voters have made a fair assessment. 

 

But he refuses to buy into it hook, line and sinker. Resistance brings a certain joy to his delicate living arrangement. He’s signed in for his shift. He’s not changing sides. 

 

The door slams as Hannibal heads out to the store to run Will’s errands. He’ll leave him to it, determined to ride this out to the countdown if need be. Hoping he’ll realize that it’s winner takes all.

 

And bragging rights are a big deal on the internet. Maybe it will convince Will that he's chosen to lie in his bed and he may as well enjoy it. 

 

Even if everything they had went up in flames, Hannibal knows he has won. He got what he wanted and it's only a matter of time before Will realizes it too. He reaches for his phone and orders another set of bots for another round. With these polls, as in all things in life, one must commit to the long haul.


End file.
